Dec'10- Jan '11- Part Two: LOVE

This post is long overdue (one month and 5 days to be exact). This post is owed to a lot of people, important people, including myself. (I can see K rolling his eyes at my narcissism).

It has not always been my dream to go to Bombay. It has been my dream to go there and celebrate in style, imbibe the Bollywood that I love. But it had been my dream for some time, owing to a long 9 year gap, to go on an aeroplane. Yes, I live in a metro. Yes to a lot of other questions. But I just hadn't been on a plane in 9 years since I flew to Delhi to see my cousins and a lot of Mughal history.

I had been ambivalent to the much-venerated spirit of Bombay, its comparisons to NYC, the horrors of 'Slumdog Millionaire' and the exotic quality of its neighbourhoods: Juhu, Bandra, Versova, Tardeo (learnt from an early exposure to MTV India and repeated filled in forms to Virgin Records in the hope of winning free Cheb Mami or Sting cassettes). I knew I would go there one day but not on what terms. My aunt and cousin invited me over but plans didn't materialise. Travelling had become scant and even my trip to Andhra in September had been a highlight of my year, a chance to celebrate Bunny's sister's engagement AND to explore my roots.

Last June, K forgot my birthday. But of course, in usual K style, he more than made up for it (even though I'd forgotten that he'd forgotten-his Mum reminded me) by firstly making my holiday extra-special by coming to his college hometown and then by giving me a gift so huge in more ways than one, in ways material and emotional. His birthday present to me was plane tickets to Bombay and a warm hospitable welcome from his London friends, the much-talked about but rarely-seen Soulgirl and Cupcake.

We set off on the early morning of the 29th, bleary and blurry-eyed, literally falling drunk due to an absolute lack of sleep. My fault, the previous night Mum, Kesh and I had stayed awake to witness my extremely haphazard and unusually disorganised packing. We met K's friend P, who also commented on my drunkenness as I stumbled through security (but I relished every minute of the intrusiveness). We got on the plane, me delighting in the movies and wide collection of music, eventually settling on guess what? Disney classics (Example: 'We Are Siamese')

I got the window seat, yay, thanks to P's thoughtfulness and barely 2 hours later, little Lego structures began to take shape before my now-alert eyes. This was a city of building blocks, much unlike the near-airport area of Chennai that's characterised by hillocks and green.

At the airport, we were greeted by these incredibly glamorous divas holding signs indicated at poking fun at K. I was all smiles, intruding upon their obviously personal bonds and memories. Aaargh what was I doing here : sleep-deprived, lumbering, unfamiliar, woozy. What soothed me was the girls' immediate warmth and effort at including me-and also their consistent pointing out of celebrity homes (Salman Khan, Farhan Akhtar, Rekha, Arjun Rampal..). My heart gave a huge smile when I spotted the word: MANNAT. Shah Rukh means something to every Indian and he means a dreamer who made his dreams come true to me. To see his home, Mannat was the physical representation of that.

We reached Soulgirl's cosy and exquisite apartment and were greeted with even more warmth and homelike affection from her mother, sister and household help. Plied with food, plumbing and soon a bed, I was soon recharged to an extent. All set to watch the culmination of the girls' four month long dance rehearsals as part of a dance troupe.

Now I love dance and watching dance too but I was not prepared for the show that I was to witness. Through a repertoire of 'Apologize', 'Behene De', 'Teri Deewani' and numerous other favourites, I sat spellbound, not wanting the show to end. Soulgirl and Cupcake are outstanding performers, each with their own unique, distinctive style and stage presence. I was completely blown away by Soulgirl's onstage electricity, not just her obvious talent and training but her sheer alive face. Her whirling like a dervish at the end of 'Teri Deewani' was nothing that I had ever seen and that too, live. To top it all, I was reduced to silent tears at a beautiful, breathtaking portrayal of the Sufi classic 'Chhaap Tilak...' by a Kathak dancer. I was touched, transported and moved beyond physicality at the utter divine love represented in that piece.

The days that followed were choc-a-bloc with activities and outings that our hosts had planned. While K and I struggled with the slow waning of tablets' after effects, we let ourselves go with the flow at the sights, sounds and very air of Bombay, this City of frenetic activity, of dreams of commercial life. What I had expected and what I experienced was very different. The air was the crisp, nostalgic air of winter sunshine and a year winding down. The place was quaint, charming, gorgeous Bandra, which to me is now synonymous with Soulgirl and Cupcake and their affection. They took us to the shopping streets of Colaba where our eyes took in the array of wares; to the most melting-in-mouth Mediterranean food (finally got rid of the taste of the inedible mezze I had here) at Moshe's, to the best Thai ever at Lemongrass, to Italian at Basilico. I want to eat that all over again.

To my delight, Bombay is composed of a lot of long drives. And someone else doing the driving! Soulgirl is as music-obsessed and invited me to play some from my phone. So we listened to Rabbi while driving down the awe-inspiring Sea Link. I took in Bombay's skyline while listening to what always reminded me of Delhi music.

New Year's eve was at a friend's farmhouse (the Bombay version of Chennai beach houses? Oh wait, they have beaches there too. And somehow, much more sea). K and I were the usual clowns, traipsing around, doing push ups, ending up fully clothed with the rest in the pool and finally freezing to insanity. In the morning, we discussed careers and how I could no longer be a rockstar. Or so he thinks.

New Year's Day was supposed to be spent with my aunt and cousin but they were recovering from the previous night so in the night we went to K's dream destination: Aer where we took in 30+ storey views of the sparkling lights of a Bombay New Year's Night. We then went to someplace I liked more: Trilogy where I danced danced danced absolutely sober and absolutely high on music. I loved that DJ and would've told him so if my brand new heels weren't all twisted out of shape and I had to dance barefoot.

But Bombay to me wasn't clubs, food or the Ambanis' 800 million dollar bombproof, Domino's encased building. Bombay to me is the precious multi-hued Arabian Sea sunsets I witnessed from Soulgirl's gorgeous living room window, in absolute silence, with my best friend and also with people I had known for 2 days and yet felt like home. Bombay to me is me and K waving at Arjun Rampal's apartment building to tell people we waved at the actor himself. Bombay to me is getting the best blowdry ever-one that lasted-with new friends I felt I'd known forever and with an old friend who loves me so much that he took a million pictures of it from all angles. Bombay to me was the excitement me and K felt at the semi-cobblestoned roads of Bandra and Pali Hill.

Bombay is a million myriad moments, postcard worthy pictures (once Photoshopped of course), a zillion unstoppable K and me giggles triggered by single word memories, dozens and dozens of girl hugs from the most beautiful girls I've ever seen because they're stunning inside and out, the warmest welcome, care and maternal pampering from Soulgirl's parents, the total invasion of space and worktime that we did to Soulgirl's amazingly talented and instantly likeable writer sister (who gifted me a book that's automatically become one of my friends- 'The Shadow of the Wind' by Julian Carax, oops Carlos Ruiz Zafón) by occupying her and Soulgirl's heavenly room, the many phone calls I made to my cool aunt saying, yes I get what you meant about this city...

So, to me, Bombay was love. Is love.

December '10: Part One - FUNNY

The Young Man and the Sea (ah, I am so clever)

It's been almost precisely two weeks since I was in the most magical city (Bombay) so far of my travels (okay, jostling with Delhi for the no.1 spot). Two weeks since I soaked in the pleasure of wandering around a beautiful airport all by myself (only my second flight in nine years and that too, my first solo one). Two weeks since I got back home, hungover on the love and excitement and friendship that characterised the last two weeks of my December 2010. The culmination of a year of not much external change, not much internal work but still a good year, nonetheless. A nice well-rounded year ending in a ten. A year like that's got to be utilised.

There's so much that needs to be said. I haven't written in ages. I've broken a self-made rule-to write in my travel journal. And that's a rule that was kept even when I went to Pondicherry three years ago with a bunch of raucous friends. That's a rule I broke when I went to Pondicherry at the end of last year with a bunch of even more raucous friends. Can I help not writing? We stayed at a fancy, luxurious hotel thanks to Aeroplane pulling strings yet we spent nearly 70% of our time wandering the streets of the French Quarter, begging for food. Really, there is no dearth of restaurants as anyone who has visited Pondicherry might know. There is authentic French food and wine, you can smell the croissants, the cheesecake, the brownies. But sacre bleu! (corny is my style) You cannot have them.

Sample this:

We go to a cafe. K and I catch a whiff of the brownies and decide that this is it. We have to have this now or we will not leave the place. And the place is delectable in itself, ocean spray hitting our face. We're ravenous, the others not so much but we tempt them into brownies, brownies and cheesecake and whatever else is on this long, scrumptiously described menu. We go to the counter which is empty. No, table service only. We saunter back, used to the French Loaf's and the Hot Breads of our world. Okay, this won't take time.

Only..

There is only one waiter (despite the presence of other staff members behind the counter). He serves only ONE table..in entirety. From menu-giving to table-clearing. And no other table. There are nine such tables. We wait. And wait. AND REALLY WAIT. Drama Queen A begins cursing and LOUDLY. We flee in fear of our future food being poisoned.

We search some more for lunch. It's dinner time. At one point, K and I, our senses shutting down due to lack of nourishment, gallop in one last burst of energy, screaming thanks, towards a brightly lit building. Drama Queen A cracks up in the background when we upon closer inspection discover that the mirage is a boutique. Necklaces we cannot eat.

At ten in the night after a hearty meal at a good restaurant (me, the sole vegetarian did not exactly enjoy it. The canneloni was an explosion of spinach and tomato sauce and little else. But I'll applaud it for not being the dosa covered, YES DOSA-COVERED, attempt that it once was in a new Chennai restaurant. But still, the best canneloni I've had was in Little Italy, Nungambakkam, Chennai.). In a display of steadfast resolve, K dismays the gang by announcing his renewed commitment to The Place. We find an auto driver-and Pondy auto drivers are nice, especially if you compare them to waiters, actually then anyone's nice-and drive him nuts by making him drive in circles till we find the place again.

We march in, triumphant. We have outwitted the crowds, by appearing at an opportune time for dessert. There is a plethora of staff milling about, actually smiling, hey are our eyes deceiving us, smiling. We plonk down, expecting royal treatment for the persistence we have displayed. Yes, we are from Madras. The capital of this state. You'd better treat us good. Oh sheesh, you're a Union Territory. Anyway, we wait. We don't want to get up and give up the hard-won table.

Butterfly finally has the bright idea to go check where our waiter is. She is duly informed (at 10.30) that there is no service till 11.15 because the staff is eating. Then WHO are these guys standing around? They're staff. But they gotta eat. Then why aren't they eating? Apparently, they are. Only we can't see it.

Butterfly: We'll just give you the money. Please can you just open this glass case, right here, yes the one in front of my nose and hand me a brownie, I'm not even asking for a plate..or a spoon. Just a brownie.
Staff: Table service only.
We hesitate to inform Drama Queen A of this latest development.

Finally, a couple of the staff members look at us (and Butterfly's steely glint) with laughing eyes and hand over a couple of brownies and a cheesecake. I beg for chocolate sauce. We get plates. But we have to go pick up the cutlery ourselves from the wash.

We go back to the table, disbelieving of our eventual success. We dig into the cheesecake, salvation is near...

Let's just say the brownie was alright.

The food story continued (in less dramatic and more dismal form) across the town. There was a well-known restaurant where the best food was a heap of French that I doused in my requisite lashing of pepper and a minuscle serving of cheese Garlic bread. Perhaps the most fruitful food discovery was at the bus station on the way back (after a dramatic bus searching escapade where :

1) the first bus home that we found smelled of someone's lost battle with motion sickness and it was indeed the reason why it smelled. The fact that it had been drowned with numerous buckets of water did nothing to eradicate the smell.

2) Aeroplane and Drama Queen A had a showdown in usual fashion, almost reminiscent of their old college fight where Drama Queen A mocked Aeroplane for not being able to see without his glasses while driving and he furiously took them off (while driving with K, me and a terrified classmate) to prove her wrong. Later, he revealed he saw only blinking lights. This time, they patched up rapidly, in usual fashion,

3) at a local eatery (AC! Deluxe!) which could've been Aminjikarai. I guess if you count the waitress making eyes at K and Aeroplane and ignoring the three women as good service, this was tops.

But the find was this: a chocolate bar. That's what this post is named after, FUNNY-the not so popular twin of Munch, the chocolate bar. The same purple and yellow colour scheme, a similar only a slightly, er, more mature taste, as compared to Munch. This was right before the long ride back where in a quest to counter the AC's faulty airconditioning, we engaged in a series of activities that resulted in

1) Aeroplane freezing and wrapping himself with my stole and ending up looking like a renegade Jordanian prince
2) Butterfly stuffing the vent with a stolen paper place mat from the deluxe Aminjikarai-esque restaurant
3) Drama Queen A stuffing her ears with the latest dirty Simbhu movie song, alternating with my all time favourite 'Ring Ringa' (oh my ethnicity!)
4) K dosed up on "Hypernacs" and collapsed on my shoulder

5) Me choking in the heat jumped out when the bus driver took a break and bought the first cool drink I could see. The Limca was a close relative of phenyl and cheapskate that I am, I tried to make Butterfly and myself finish it off. I think it's still in my fridge if it hasn't been used to swab the house.

The rest of the trip was certainly memorable : I finally got to cycle around the cobbled streets of the French Quarter (don't ask about finding the cycles and also about my cycle. Its lack of a bell was compensated by the telltale grind of its chains that warned passersby of a hurtling, tiny vehicle with a yellowclad individual clasping on for dear life). The hotel was lovely (I wish I'd eaten more of the breakfast), there was this elderly family on a bench opposite the Promenade that warmed my heart, the Casablanca I do want to visit again, with more time on my hands, the friends were funny, funny, FUN!

Clearly, age has not diminished our propensity for stupid, repetitive jokes, sleepless high endless giggles and lowly, often slapstick humour in general. It seemed like the universe gave us quite some fodder for that one day and a half.

Digression Session

As usual, my utterly brilliant thoughts and philosophies drift through the windows of my mind in the five seconds before sleep or the five seconds before the red light changes to green.
It's not that I have become uncreative or suffer from lack of information. My academic pursuits stress on newspaper reading (even if, currently that is restricted to reading Klose's statement about Villa or the latest Sudhish Kamath movie review-always an addiction) and more. I suppose the inner rebel in me baulks at any compulsory reading right now. (this phase probably explains why I end up reading sodium content on the back of Hippo Chips packets and why EAT HIPPO, NO FIGHT. All this and I don't even eat or like chips.)

Bad, bad attitude since that's most certainly not gonna help me through the last and maybe final year of school. Ever.

In all seriousness, I did read a really really good book recently. Less of a book, more of a reliving. It was Wangari Maathai's 'Unbowed', and it has like a lot of other autobiographies, become an inspiration to me. Her immense strength of character and unyielding spirit that enabled her to take on the entire Kenyan government is amazing to read about. Makes me think about how insignificant my own inner ghosts are and how much easier to override. Such a long, long way to go.

Anyway, I digress (just read an email forward on age-related attention deficit disorder which sounded disturbingly familiar). The purpose of this post is to reminisce about my fruitful youth. Ah, the days of totally incomprehensible physics classes where I would sit in the backbench, sketching storyboards and scribbling 'movie' scripts, writing songs for 'musicals' starring my own imaginary star cast (this is the origin of Kingdom of Estarra. More on that later). This was the creative explosion. Years of guitar classes, nights of songwriting (my guitar, Dominic still bears the pen marks), 2 am story inspirations. (I actually miss school days where I could hate the subject and thus, rebel in my own geeky way. What I've been studying since have been purely my decisions and hence I have no choice but to like it. Aargh, the tragedy of getting what you want in life...)

In college, I got lazy. My friends and their lives were highly inspiring in terms of story fodder but I somehow couldn't translate that into fictitional material. What a waste. My only expression was when first-year-college-turbulence showed up in the form of poetry. And that remains my saving grace when it comes to writing even now. Scribbles on the back of my Entrepreneurial Development or Globalisation notebooks (but never EVER during Ethnicity, Culture and IR) . Poetic license abused to the nth point. Romantic, free-flowing verse inspired by the evening (usually cloudy) sky, the fluorescent green, erm, greenery outside. No John Mayer lyrics coming to mind, nothing interesting to sketch. Twenty boring minutes to the bell.

The point of this rambling (yes, there is one!) is an official declaration of my commitment to writerhood. No, not as a recreational activity on this blog during internship (blogging has always been a staple feature of all my internships since they have all been desk-bound) This is the statement: I'm going back to my creativity-fueled fourteen year old self (and only THAT aspect of my fourteen year old self) because creation is the only proof of existence. Truly. And thought-generation doesn't really count. What's the use of these great, fabulous ( I'm assuming) thoughts if they're withering away in the recesses of my mind?

And by writing, I mean consistency. Not this two voluble blog posts in one night thing. Steadfastedness. Regimenal. Creative cardio.

Today is good

Wide open spaces. Summer afternoon haze through rectangular windows. Lying on the ground in the centre of the empty upstairs drawing room, listening to Queen, feeling liberated in the companionship of your own self. Walking on the sweltering streets of Chennai, under the suffocation that is undeniably April in Chennai with an old friend whom you haven't hung out with in ages, talking about 2012 doomsday. Uplifting. Discovering a xerox shop you had passed by a million times and never noticed. Talking about college ending with the relief that everyone doesn't hate everyone else anymore. Corn, corn, boiled corn with chilly powder. Cold water straight from the fridge drunk quickly and desperately. A long bath, the first of many during the long day. Sunlight, unceasing sunlight, pinning you down helpless until you surrender with a smile. All the negotiations you tried in the years before, cast away. All the escape routes you dreamt, abandoned as uncertain applications submitted to the universe. All that remains is you and the summer- depressing, dominating, debilitating. And inevitable. A rite of passage. A feigned love motivated by expectations of surprises...

5 current loves of my life I don't think I'll ever get over

I'm in the mood for five. Let's make a wish list.
1. Veg Tandoori platter
I really really really am craving for it. Cauliflowers, paneer tikka and potatoes all smothered in a kind of tandoori chilly paste oh my god I'm going to faint. This must be true love because it has occupied the most dominant portion of my brain for the last THIRTY HOURS. I am clearly insanely fixated.
Something is very wrong with me. I told you I needed therapy. Oh mind, distract please!

2. My bed
I cannot get enough of you. No, I just can't.

3. My pillow

4. My quilt

5. zzzzz

You greedy happy pig you

I am being haunted.
I woke up last morning to a picture of Sweet Chariot's chocolate mousse in the Weekend section of the paper. I ignored, deftly flipping through the pages for non-food articles, chanting "I can do this, I can do this" in my head.
So I manage through the day, drinking sugar-less juice when I craved for cold coffee. So, we go out for dinner, my mind going "soup", my stomach going "pizza".
Thankfully pizza was not available. But look what else was! On the menu, where Nut and Date Tart and Apple Pie and other non-appetising (to me) dessert items normally reside, was printed in tiny letters:
Chocolate Mousse.
Which to me, of course, meant:
CHOCOLATE MOUSSE.
Ohhhhhhhh heavens!!!! What am I going to dooooooooooooooooooooooo? Is there no will-power in this heart of mine? Why can't I replace the drool in my mouth with an image of all the clothes in my closet that do not fit? Why can't I run up the stairs and keep on running when there is the slightest tingling of chocolate craving in my belly? Why oh why oh why?
Some of life's mysteries remain unsolved.
And so I ordered.
And much as I'd like to pretend I hate myself for it, I don't.
Hee hee hee.

Growing is a Pain

Something is seriously, very wrong with me.

Puer Aeternus is Latin for eternal boy, used in mythology to designate a child-god who is forever young; psychologically it refers to an older man whose emotional life has remained at an adolescent level, usually coupled with too great a dependence on the mother. The puer typically leads a provisional life, due to the fear of being caught in a situation from which it might not be possible to escape. He covets independence and freedom, chafes at boundaries and limits, and tends to find any restriction intolerable.

The "positive" side of the puer appears as the Divine Child who symbolizes newness, potential for growth, hope for the future. He also foreshadows the hero that he sometimes becomes (e.g. Heracles). The "negative" side is the child-man who refuses to grow up and meet the challenges of life face on, waiting instead for his ship to come in and solve all his problems.
"For the time being one is doing this or that, but whether it is a woman or a job, it is not yet what is really wanted, and there is always the fantasy that sometime in the future the real thing will come about.... The one thing dreaded throughout by such a type of man is to be bound to anything whatsoever."
"Common symptoms of puer psychology are dreams of imprisonment and similar imagery: chains, bars, cages, entrapment, bondage. Life itself...is experienced as a prison."

Okay, is my imagination over active as usual or do I detect a familiarity in the above paragraphs? Am I, the ruler of Estarra, in reality a Peter (or Patricia?) Pan???

Oh no, I don't want to think about it.

But wait! Isn't that a typical tendency? Oh no, oh no!

Should I be psychoanalysed? Am I stuck at some stage that hasn't been resolved yet? Is this why I am the way I am? How come no one's ever realised? How come no one's worried???? I seem to have a problem growing up!!

Let's make a list and see:
Adult tendencies
1. I drive. (okay, okay! But that clearly indicates that I have the ability to be responsible for something that is bigger than myself. Though I still don't know how to check the water coolant and stuff. Sigh. My father's gonna kill me.)

2. I do all my homework and assignments and presentations on time. I submit them first (or I'll panic from paranoia!)

3. I am very bossy when it comes to group projects that I HAVE to do. (Otherwise, I couldn't care less. Hmmm.)

4. I have managed to earn money, much to my surprise-twice as an anchor on Doordarshan. Once as an actor in a educational film. One as an MC's assistant at a friend's event. That's it. That's my job history. So I can survive.

5. I hate partying and get a thrill out of organising and arranging and filing all my belongings. (That is not adult-like. That is just plain WEIRD!)

6. Barack Obama is my idol and 'Dreams from my Father' has been way inspiring. I want to bring positive change to this world somehow. I don't know what I have to offer, I don't know how or what I'm going to do. But I figure the first step should be to sort myself out first!)

7. I think and think and think before spending on myself. (Check me out, digging for reasonably priced files and debating to buy Vogue magazine for a month- I ended up missing the anniversary issue and the next one too. Finally, went crazy and bought the one with Katrina Kaif on it.)

Kid-like tendencies
1. I watch Hannah Montana. I want me and Numbi Jim to be Miley and Lily. (Oh the shame)

2. The maximum I can cook is make Top Ramen. Okay, not even Top Ramen. CUP O NOODLES. (Are you happy??? I am embarrassed!! But I do have a big file of internet downloaded recipes that I plan to make someday...someday...)

3.I fall in love with celebrities and fictional characters. Alright, that's got nothing to do with age (I KNOW that my mum had crushes on Zidane and Dhoni.) But I know something's wrong when most of my friends have decided baby's names and wedding venues (okay, not in that order) while I declare my passionate adoration for Enrique,Hrithik, Darius, Arjun Rampal, Edward Norton, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and characters like Michael Moscovitz and David (Meg Cabot), Kostos Dounas (Ann Brashares- Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) and right now downright scintillating vampire boy Edward Cullen (Stephanie Myer) etc (WAIT A MINUTE. They're ALL taken. Waaaaaaaaah!)

4. My favourite movies include 'The Little Mermaid' , 'Anastasia' and 'The Road to El Dorado' and my dream is to buy myself an 'Aladdin' DVD. (Even though I have enjoyed films such as 'Impromptu', 'Blow' and other legends that I cannot recall right now. But I must confess I still cannot bring myself to watch Akira Kurosowa. Sorry, Bunny. Your cultured cinematographer's taste has not rubbed off on me.)

5. I sneak into the library, head for the kids section, grab a 'Princess Diaries' and run before anyone (particularly a kid) sees me. I head for the librarian's counter to issue it and pretend to scan through a copy of Business Today to avoid catching his eye.

6.I begin to fall asleep standing at the discussion or perusal of gold/diamond/silver/platinum jewellery or sari shopping. (Or could this be a sign of tomboyish tendencies? But that doesn't explain my fascination for Vogue magazine spreads? Then again, I just stare at the clothes and photos and don't do anything about it. I guess it's like colour and gloss therapy for me) I tune off and you can bring me back to consciousness only at the mention of hilarious headlines on 'The Tonight Show with Jay Leno'. Or just Jay Leno for that matter. Comedy wins over dress-up anytime.

7. I have no clue what I want to be doing for the rest of my life.

Sigh. Sigmund Freud, leave me be. I'll take a while and you can't do anything about it.

Ah, l'amour!

Well, well, I'm in one of my lovey-dovey moods (read: the time when I'm not being a totally brattish boy who couldn't care less about eyebrow threading, is in the throes of an extremely satisfying assignment completion or lusting after pizza and popcorn). Being perennially single in a sea of couples (with and without the relationship counselling I tend to do) has its advantages and disadvantages.
The upside:
- I can go where I like, talk to whom I like, without it being a problem for anyone (er, except headquarters) I love all my guy friends too much to give that up.
- I save on tears.
- I don't have to dress up and fret about looking perfect. Okay, perhaps the fact that I'm single should make me NEED to dress up, but I'm just too lazy to care.
- I have done enough fighting with my best friend for a dozen relationships.
- I can have a million and hundred crushes and nobody has to know. And even if they do, it's all fine!
-Weirdness is something you celebrate alone. I think.
- I can be a boy.
- My parents are extreeeeeemely happy with my célébataire status. And I get to hang out with them most of the time.

The downside:
- You have to drop yourself home and so can't stay out that late (if you're a girl like I'm supposed to be). Ah, the luxury of having someone drive you around and fuss about protecting you. (Besides Mum. Now if she did that, I'd furiously declare my age and how I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Not)
- There's always a message waiting to be read on your phone. A call. An email. Some contact when you're in your people-hungry moods!
- Someone chose YOU because of the way you are and does not need you to change for any reason. Someone loves you not because you are born to them. Of course, there's friends for this. But they don't necessarily find you attractive, fun, comfortable, loving and want to be with you all the time. Hmmm.
- You get to fuss over someone and pour out all that love without scaring (when your friends and puppy get squirmy if you do the same. Sometimes)
The rest of the reasons have been eloquently conveyed in the following.

All I Want Is You - U2

You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want your story to remain untold
But all the promises we made
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it
A treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night
You say you'll give me eyes in a world of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you want your love to work out right
To last with me through the night
You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold
All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you You
All I want is...you
All I want is...you
All I want is...you
( I guess the fact that it is sung in Bono's passionate voice as it soars over The Edge's other-worldly riffs adds to the fact that it is probably the most beautiful song of love and longing that I've ever heard. I can listen to it over and over and over again and still not shake off the goosebumps on my skin.)

Desert Rose - Sting

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Sweet desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this
Sweet desert rose
This memory of Eden haunts us all
This desert flower
This rare perfume, is the sweet intoxication of the fall
( The delicate words woven into the intricate melody totally transports me into a desert oasis under a star studded sky. Okay, okay, I'm getting too soppy perhaps. But I just cannot resist Cheb Mami's enchanting vocals syncing with Sting's as these words of yearning for love flow so gracefully. Siiiiigh)

Abhi Nahin Aana - Sona

Abhi Nahin Aana

Mohe Thoda Marne De

Intezar Karne De

Abhi Nahin Aana Sajana

Bhejiyo Sandesha

Aap Nahin Aana

Thode Door Rahke

Mohe Tarsana

Abhi To Mein Chahun,

Sari Sari Raat Jagana

Abhi Nahi Anna Sajana

Ruk Ruk Aana

Dheere Dheere Chalna

Bhoolna Dagaria,

Raste Badalna

Nahi Abhi Mohe,

Garwa Nahi Hey Lagna

Abhi Na Jagao

Bane Raho Sapna....
(Okay, for those of you who don't know Hindi, for those of you who are not familiar with Indian traditions and perceptions of love and courtship, this one may be lost on you in translation. The song, beautifully sung by Sona, is about a woman telling her lover to delay his arrival. She wishes to nearly die in anticipation for him, to experience the torture of being separated from him. This song cannot be understood if you're not a romantic)

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

We'll do it all

Everything

On our own.

We don't need

Anything

Or anyone.

If I lay here,

If I just lay here ,

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know

How to say

How I feel.

Those three words

Are said too much

They're not enough

If I lay here,

If I just lay here,

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told

Before we get too old

Show me a garden that's bursting into life.

Let's waste time

Chasing cars

Around our heads.

I need your grace

To remind me

To find my own...

All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes,

they're all I can see.

I don't know where

Confused about how as well

Just know that these things will never change for us at all.

If I lay here,

If I just lay here,

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

( Need I say more?)

Indications of my Tamil-ness

The beat of ‘Veyilodu Vilayadi’ makes me nostalgic for paddy fields and blinding sunshine for some reason despite the fact that I am as rural the Gemini flyover. However, the chorus of ‘Mustafa Mustafa’ can make me more misty-eyed.
I watched ‘Sivaji’ more than once.
When I want to be affectionate without being mushy, I call someone ‘da’.
I always change to Sun Music after VH1 and Zoom.
Vada sambhar, sambhar-rice, bisi bela bath. Call me.
I grew up on a staple diet of Prabhu Deva’s baggy pants, funky dance moves and with swells of pride while listening to each newest A.R.Rahman creation, each marking a new season in my life.
Marina beach may be the dirtiest, most crowded, most overrated place in the city but it’s still our beach.
I wanna dance like Vijay!!
Pongal brings so much hope even though I don’t own a cow and dread the increase in sunshine from that time of the year. And salty Pongal..is..so..yum.
‘Dai’ can be used in so many contexts ranging from blind fury to playful greeting. Why, it’s even in my phone’s messaging dictionary (though probably as the starting of the word ‘dairy’. Hmmm. Never mind)
The Tamil slang is so open to other languages. Conversation is easy for anyone. (“Ippo straight, ippo right, ippo left!)
I love shouting out when spotting familiar places in Kollywood movies. ("Spencers!!!")
Tamil comedy is something else altogether…

I complain on and on and on and on about the heat but I don’t go anywhere.
My best friend knows your aunt’s sister’s son/daughter.
Only in Chennai can you go to a Café Coffee Day and wind up meeting 2/3rd of your graduating class from school.
Lungis seem so comfy…Dhaavanis look so pretty… :) even though you hardly see them anymore.
Sure, it’s sleepy but after all that sun, that’s all you really want to do.

I love my Madras. :D

Culturally challenged

Yes, I'm culturally challenged.
No, it's not that I have no respect or understanding or interest in culture of any kind. It's just that I have an affinity for ALL of them!
Wait let me explain...
My paternal side of the family is Telugu, with origins way back in Rajasthan...
My maternal side is Malayali but with settlements all over the North of India...
My cousins are half-Bengali and half-Himachali each (with the confusing mix of Malayali blood and Delhiite upbringing thrown in)...
My language of thought and most speech is the colonial inheritance, English (with a medley of Tamil, Hindi, slang and whatever language is closest pulled in)...
My poetry! The language of my heart is Spanish, for its poetry in every phrase, in every word and its capability of expressing my soul (though I barely speak it anymore)...
My music! Music speaks to me most strikingly through Arabic-the whispers of the desert, the wind in the qanun and the hypnotic beat of the derbouka...
My movies! Bollywood and the Hindi dialogues, songs and dances of its films envelop me in their profusion of warmth and colour...
My food! Has to be spicy and colourful and vibrant and over the top. I cannot live without some dose of Andhra food...
My school! Sanskrit was my second language. My reverence for the holy language was a bit dented after 5 years of non-understanding texts that advised me to not hang necklaces around a snake (No offence meant)
My college! French was always a language I appreciated for its exquisite accent (which I practised much on my friends, much to their er..concern for my sanity) and also because it so resembled Spanish.

You would wonder how I survived these many years without tripping over my own tongue. Linguistically, culturally, emotionally... I have no clue where I stand.

What is my mother tongue? (er, English)
What are you? (er, human)
Where are you from? (er,Mommy?)

Oh my, you don't speak Telugu, what a shame. You don't speak Malayalam either? Tsk, tsk.
No I cannot feel pride welling up if I see coconut trees and backwaters. Sure, it's pretty but it isn't mine.
I love my 'mudu-pappu' and mango dal like crazy but I cannot follow a word of the Telugu language and as much as I try to feel guilty about it, I really don't.
And I just don't have a soul to practise Spanish with. It's not much fun being pointed at while you speak to yourself in a 'foreign' language.
And my spoken Hindi shows no improvement despite my Bollywood fixation and the fact that it was my general elective this semester!

So where do I fit in? Where is that home, the place I belong? Where everyone goes on holiday and comes back with unified stories of family, tradition while I take a pinch of nearly everything. I want to understand jokes in Malayalam slang and want to understand the lines to inane Chiranjeevi songs (Big Boss!!!).
I want to speak perfect Hindi and not just ‘hahn, hahn’. I want something to call my OWN. And it’s too late to invent a language. (already did that in Std I…until concerns for my development made me stop)

Maybe that’s why I created Estarra. Hmmm. :)

To my bestest :)

"I'm never gonna speak to him again!"

"That's it. I don't see any point in this friendship anymore..."

"I HATE HER!!!!!"

You're not human if you haven't uttered or haven't had atleast one of these sentences been uttered to you.
Well, I'm human. And I'm young enough to eat my words. Several times. And let's not talk about the indigestion.

But who remembers a few morsels of humble pie while swallowing a tablespoonful of one's pride when it means salvaging a friendship?

When your eyes search across the room to exchange a look after a teacher has said something incredibly disparaging but howlariously side-splitting at the same time.

When you walk alone to the canteen and have no one to grab your cup o'noodles and dig in like nobody's business.

When no matter how much you love all your other friends, there's no one quite like that one person to share your idiosyncracies, your crushes, your obscure jokes and your veg roll.

When you want to just smile at someone for no reason and get that old goofy smile back in return that makes you feel all sunny again.

When you want someone who can obsess with you about something utterly trivial to the rest of the world but earth-shatteringly significant to you.

When you're wake up at 2 in the morning and you desperately need someone to share your recently-formulated philosophies over text messages.

When you're starving and cranky as hell and need someone to just pop a biscuit in your mouth ..even if you steal his/her food all the time and to soothe you with promises of dinner at an A/C restaurant nearby even if you're flat broke.

When you can't think of anyone who hangs out with your family so much that you can't imagine him/her not belonging right here.

When you need someone to tell you that yes, you will find love, SOON and even if you don't, let's go drown our sorrows in chocolate cake.

When you are extremely lazy and need someone to pick clothes for you, someone who knows which are your 'fat-weather' clothes!!!

When you need someone to accept graciously all your inane terms of endearment right from 'tiramisu' to 'bonda raj'.

When you are perpetually single but need to dedicate romantic songs to someone.

When you know, you know that NO ONE else could have possibly been there for you, like he/she was-not at that moment, not at that place and not for that long.

When you can't find anyone who will get along so well with all of your people right from parents to school friends to college friends to house help.

When there is NOT a soul who will remember all the most ridiculous of phrases that made you crack up, whether a year or a week ago, and will repeat them at the most appropriate AND inappropriate moments!

When you need someone to be there with through all your most insecure stage moments, the most awkward encounters and the most boring chores , without you even asking him/her to.

When the code names and code words protect you from the rest of the world even though they remind you of 6th standard all over again.

When you want to vent all your anger about someone to someone who won't spill and more importantly, doesn't think you're an evil/negative/cynical aura-drainer.

When you sigh about wanting to fall in love and experience that magical abyss and need someone to not say "Oh shut up! It's not as great as it looks like! Look at Brad and Jennifer! Kareena-Shahid!".

When you can't remember anyone who remembers all the things that you said in your most affectionate moments when all you can remember is all the mean things that you never meant.

When you can't imagine anyone being your boyfriend/girlfriend/brother/sister/best friend/foe/pet/plaything/Agony aunt/psychiatrist/spiritual comrade/911 helpline/drug/accomplice at the same time.

Anyone, that is, except that person.

It's not Valentine's Day..or Friendship Day..But here's to you, the best friend. Here's to you.

Forever. :)

Things that make my day

Well here's something that intrigued me and since I write in this space so sporadically (no offense, but my journal's way closer than my computer and hence my thoughts tend to pour into that vessel). My friend suggested I talk about the things that amuse me in a normal day for a casual speech assignment. I'd rather write about it and take it one step further to include all the random things that make me happy/amused/blessed in any ordinary day...

Waking up and realising there's a looooot more time for coll (the fact that I'm in evening college kinda helps :P)...
Listening to my latest favourite song first thing in the morning, even before I get out of bed and getting high out of my mind....
Whenever there's something unusual about the day-the sky is extraordinarily blue, the clouds sparkingly white, the breeze so refreshing..these things just make me so thrilled for some reason...
Seeing atleast 5 new messages in my phone...
Lounging and reading the paper in my night clothes...
Singing along to Rachid Taha songs in Arabic even if I have no clue what the words are but no one knows or cares anyway...:)
Having a good hair day..:D
Friends asking me for advice and me giving good advice...:)
Attending all 5 hrs of college and suppressing all urges to bunk...
Having fulfilling classes...
Expressing my views about those things I've never thought about before...
Laughing my head off to the mad antics of my friends in class (without hurting the teacher of course)...
The veg rolls in the college canteen...mmm...
The sunshine that streams in through the trees during the break and warms me up cause these days it's still chilly..
Free hours when I don't know where the time flies off to because I'm having so much fun with my friends...
Making someone laugh....
Driving my car safely home through an insane rush hour...
Coming home ravenous and eating a yummmy dinner courtesy Mum first thing...
Coming online and having a long soul searching, cathartic, satisfactory chat...:)
Opening a book and finding a sentence or paragraph that hits me so hard because it has expressed my thoughts exactly...
Writing a piece of poetry or just writing anything at all...
Having someone there who is just so curious to know about my day...
Crossing off all the items on my to do list...
Hugging my friends/parents...
Having a hot water bottle for my back...:D sooo relaaaxiiing
Free messaging hours at night...:)
Sleeping off while reading Paulo Coelho/Kahlil Gibran/Rumi and listening to Gregorian/Benedictine chants...
Dreaming about something I want to come true...
Waking up to start all over again... cause today might be the day, and even if it isn't, it sure feels like it...:D